Desires Become Real
by Juushika Redgrave
Summary: Mirai Trunks returns to the past and spends a year in the Room of Spirit and Time with Vegeta, prompting unexpected consequences. Sequel to Conflict Made Flesh. VegetaxMirai Trunks, angst, incest, explicit.


Disclaimers, warnings, and notes: I do not own DragonBall Z. I am making no profit. This story contains explicit sex between two males (yaoi, NC-17) and incest. You have been warned. I appreciate all feedback be it constructive or just a good word. Enjoy. This piece is the sequel to Conflict Made Flesh, and I recommend reading that piece prior to this one. It was originally posted in 2001. I am reposting it now for posterity's sake, and because I've always liked it.

Begun May 23rd, 2001

Completed June 9th, 2001

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Desires Become Real 

The Sequel to Conflict Made Flesh

* * *

We're been alone here for over half a year. Our day is nearing its close. 

I never imagined a place like this could exist. When you come through the wooden door you enter a small enclosure: two beds, twin hourglasses, enough food for a year, and roomy bathroom accommodations. Then there is a double-tiered tiled platform. After that point reality ends. Extending infinitely is a white void - the gravity ten times Earth's and growing constantly the further out you go, the temperature fluctuating wildly from below freezing to hotter than hell flames. It is total isolation, complete separation from all life, encircled by pure brilliant blankness. It drives my mind to the breaking point, the stark surroundings and the lack of humanity.

The Room of Spirit and Time.

But he is here as well. Vegeta. My father. I hid my feelings well -- better than I ever could have hoped for. I couldn't mask my concern, but that much was natural. He expected it from me. I wanted to be in his company, but to an extent he anticipated that as well. I guarded myself very closely. But he can always see through me. He's my father.

From the first day he rejected my offers to train together and quickly I learned he would never accept. He trains alone. I respected his space, never encroaching on it. But I watched him from afar. I tracked his movements and observed his progress. Awake I thought of him, asleep I dreamt of him. He was always, always on my mind. I tried to shut myself off from my want, from the anxious need to be accepted by him, from the desperate lust for his body. They were emotions that I had come to know, emotions I had been living with every second of my life since entering the chamber. Regardless of what I did or tried, the obsession refused to lessen, never decreased. But he showed no knowledge of my constant scrutiny, and so I stared on, disgusted with myself and lost to him. Addicted to him.

Watching him was exquisite torture. The look on his face when he powers up, the way his muscles clench and stretch under form-fitting spandex, the energy and fire released in his anger, the raw and sensual way he bleeds. Until one month ago -- that's about two hours to those outside -- my life consisted of two things: watching Vegeta and working to reach a level high enough for him to consider me his equal.

One month ago everything changed.

The bathhouse doesn't get much use. We have little need for it - we're here to become stronger and how we look or smell doesn't matter. But one month ago, to clean out wounds and wash away blood, Vegeta took a shower. When I heard him close the door to the stall I found myself walking up onto the platform and into the living enclosure. I waited between the beds and the partly open door to the bath wing for a moment, lightheaded and shaking. That's the effect he has on me. With trembling fingers I tucked my hair behind my ears and suddenly I began to search for something to tie up the overgrown mass with - I had been intending to do so, but acting then was only an excuse not to leave and I knew it.

I found a suitable scrap almost immediately. Then I stood there, with the fabric wrapped loosely around my hand, and listened to the sound of running water. I took steps forward, stepping closer to the door that lead to the baths. I looked in.

On the tiled floor where he had dropped it, his armor was piled. The room was humid, steam in clouds at the ceiling and fogging the glass. The stall was tucked into the corner, beside the large deep bath. I could make out his form, body facing almost directly away from me. Through breaks in the mist I could see clearer: the small of his back to the top of his buttocks with his tailspot a circle of course fur, his shoulder moving fluidly as he raised his arm to run his fingers through his hair, his calf grooved with well-defined muscles. He was even more beautiful that I had dreamed, and he was real. I stared. I stared as he rinsed his spiked ebony hair under the stream. I stared as he threw his head back to let the water rush over his skin. I barely noticed advancing to see more and the erection that had grown in my pants was a phantom throbbing. The world had disappeared, reality had dissolved, and Vegeta under the shower spray was all that remained.

His movements paused and then he turned so that his profile was to me. Through the blurred glass I could see his hand move absently over his neck, head tilted to the side. It trailed down his chest and dimly I heard myself panting, softly, with desire. Abruptly the hand reached out, wiping condensation from the stall door. His head turned and his eyes pierced mine, looking through the gap he had created. He smirked.

I froze. I had entered the room unconsciously; I should have known I could be seen. My power level had been varying absently as I watched, I should have known I could be sensed. Stumbling, I backed out. Backed away until my knees hit the edge of my bed. I sat down, shocked, and the fabric scrap fluttered to the floor. I knew there was no hope in attempting to flee because there was nowhere to run to. I waited for him. My mind as a blank blind panic, no cohesive thought ran through it.

Some minutes later Vegeta emerged. He pushed the door open wide and stood there, framed, his eyes burning into me. A thin white towel was wrapped low around his waist and from his skin water was slowly dripping to the floor. My cheeks burned and I shamefully tried to meet his eyes. My gaze hovered, nearly unseeing, over his face. He spoke then -- I can remember every single word that passed between us.

"Enjoy the view, brat? Tell me," he demanded. I swallowed noisily but could say nothing in return. His eyes narrowed and his lips quirked in a cruel and feral grin. "Tell me," he ordered again.

A wordless, mortifying whimper escaped my lips and my gaze fell to the floor, watching the slowly growing puddle. "Yes," I eventually whispered.

Vegeta laughed. At the sound I raised my eyes to stare at him incredulously and with fear. He turned from me, and I sighed, thankful but regretful. But he did not leave. Instead, his hands went to his waist. His towel dropped heavily to the floor and I choked on the air I was breathing. Purposefully, slowly, he turned full circle. Toned calves and thighs, tight rear and partially formed erection, muscled abdomen, defined back and shoulders, grooved chest and arms, thick raven hair, chiseled features and taunting demeaning smirk, shimmering skin still wet from the shower. Stopping with his back to me he glared over his shoulder. His eyes dropped to my crotch briefly before he looked to my face and spoke.

"Tell me, Trunks," he paused and chuckled, then added, "Son. What is it what you like? My chest? My ass?" He turned to face me full on and asked, hands on his hips, "Or is it your father's cock that turns you on?"

After a pause I spoke softly, regretting the word even as I said it. "Everything."

He accepted my praise with a self-assured smirk. "What do you want?" he then asked. "Do you want me to blow you? Fuck you? Or," he continued after a moment, "do you want me to ride you so you can fill my ass instead?"

It was the most erotic moment I had lived. His voice, his words, his dripping bare skin. "Everything," I answered again in a course whisper.

His voice became condescendingly accusing. "Coward. Since the day you arrived you have been lusting after me." He grinned at the shock that must have been apparent on my face. "Don't delude yourself. You didn't hide it for a moment. I thought eventually you would do something about it, but you were a coward -- you didn't have the nerve."

"You're my father, Vegeta." My voice shook. I was aroused, nervous, terrified, disbelieving. I was petrified. I was facing my father and I was awake. He had known, he had known the entire time.

Still naked, making no move to cover himself, Vegeta shook his head at me slowly. "You are my son," he agreed, "but you come from a different time. What happens between us can have no ill effects. It's simple. You want me, and I want sex." His left hand moved in from his waist, palming his hardening erection. The exhibition broke me, it was more that I could take.

"I do want you, Father. Make love to me."

"I'll fuck you, Trunks, only that." He advanced on me. Inches before me, our knees touching, he paused. Our eyes locked and for a moment my heart stopped beating. Vegeta licked his lips and then reached out. His fingers contacted with my chest, shocking me, pushing me back to fall onto the bed.

He climbed atop me and caught my mouth in our first kiss. It was beyond what I had dreamed, so alien and completely mind-blowing. It made me forget to think. His tongue forced into my mouth, mapping each ridge and tracing my teeth, overwhelming me with his taste. His hands dug into my hair, petting it and tugging it as it pleased him. His body moved against mine and our erections met through my pants. In tight rough circles his groin ground into mine and a moan escaped me to be swallowed by his mouth. The kiss lasted an eternity, so long. When he finally pulled away my lips were sore.

He stripped me then, undressing me swiftly and efficiently. It happened so quickly the memory is only a blur. As soon as my clothing was off me and on the floor he was all over me again. His hands were everywhere at once, roughly awaking nerves that I had not known to exist until then. He was not gentle and he did not move slowly. Without preamble his hand ran down my abdomen, wrapping around my length. He pumped, holding my erection much tighter that I do when jerking off, so tightly it hurt. To have someone else touch me... Masturbation, I found, can never compare to a partner. And sex that forward, that heavy, that hard, that raw, that dirty, it outstrips everything. Long ago, Gohan used to feel me up, nervous broken gropes and stolen kisses when no one was looking. But it never got too far -- the age difference and the thought of my mother stopped him. Vegeta was something completely different. No steps, no waiting, minimal foreplay, no words of affection. Only heavy painful teasing and his superior voice.

As he spoke his hand continued its work, now rubbing open palmed over my erection. "Are you a virgin?" he asked me.

I nodded, my eyes heavy-lidded as I moaned quietly, his touch moving between my legs to massage my anus.

"I should prepare you," he murmured thoughtfully as he inserted one dry finger, "but I don't have much patience." A second entered me uncomfortably, making me tense. He exhaled through his nose, pleased with my hungry responses.

"I ... I don't care, Father..."

"And I should find something to use as lubricant..." he said, scissoring his fingers.

"You can take me dry," I said. My dream, so very different and so very long ago, came vividly to my mind. In my weakened state my thoughts quickly became words. "You did once, in a dream. You didn't stretch me and you took me dry... It hurt then but I could take it. I can take it now."

"You dreamt of fucking me?" Vegeta mused, a third finger pushing in. For the first time he found my prostate and I shuddered, eyes clenching shut. "When?" he asked.

"The night..." He brushed the gland again and white spots appeared over the black behind my eyelids. "The night I returned from my first journey here."

"Good enough," Vegeta announced as he pulled his fingers out of me and moved back. I whimpered wantonly at the loss of contact and he snorted. "Get on your hands and knees," he said. As I moved to obey him he asked, "How was it?"

"What?"

"The dream. How was it?" he clarified, moving my legs further apart until it satisfied him.

I blushed, pulling my head into my chest so that he couldn't see my flaming cheeks. My reply was stammered nervously, "It was perfect."

The purple bedsheets rustled as he moved to his knees behind me. Then he paused. "What happened?"

I desperately wanted the conversation to end. It was mortifying. I needed no reminder of my shameful moral trespass: he was my father. I feared that when I told him he would reject me. My hard-on was also a factor, throbbing painfully in my groin. And more than anything, I needed to feel him filling me, thrusting into me. But he gave me no choice but to reply. "You came to me in the dead of night, woke me when I was sleeping. Then you kissed me ... you kissed me, told me I was beautiful, and made love to me." Burning tears were building and I squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to let them fall. "I woke up before it was over and then I brought myself off, pretending ... pretending you were there with me." One salt-water drop rolled over my skin and fell to the pillowcase.

"Quite a dream." Vegeta's tone was thoughtful and he placed one calloused hand on my hip. Hope surged through me, overflowing my heart. I honestly, truly believed there was love in his voice. But then I felt his hard erection test my entrance. His second hand found my hip and he began to push forward, grunting, "Welcome to the real world, kid. It's not nearly as pretty as you dreamed." I cried out and a deep sound rumbled from his throat as the head of his length slipped in. For a moment he rested, panting, to gasp out, "The real world is dirty. Filthy." Again he pushed. It was a splitting, satisfying pain like I had never felt. I could feel a tearing and a sudden fresh burst of that pain, so very real. Red flashed across my vision, my hands curled to fists, sweat broke out on my skin. It was no dream. Eventually his groin met my ass and he was encased in me completely. Vegeta fell over my back and I could feel his hot gasping breath on my skin. "You are so fucking tight, Trunks." He then asked, rising from the support I provided, "Ready?"

My voice shuttered as I answered, "Yes."

"Good."

There were no more words then - there was nothing to be said. He began to thrust.

It was total, final completion. It was unbearable. Each in and our circuit was a journey to hell and back, a kind of pain I simply could not comprehend. And the pleasure -- it was the most intimate, inconceivable, staggering type of pleasure that I knew. He was wonderful -- he knew my body perfectly. He wrung cries from my throat. Pleasure coiled in my gut, set fire to my veins, swamped my brain, twisted my mind. Within seconds I was seeing stars, within moments I had lost my sense of sight completely.

Rationally I knew it was wrong, just as I know now. A corrupt, incestuous relationship and immoral sex. But exactly as in my dream, it felt right. It was different, completely unlike the idyllic and brutally affectionate relationship I had created within my mind. But it still felt right. I was whole, mentally and physically. It was my nighttime lust brought to life; desires become real. At that point, as he filled me again and again, I recognized the true depth of my emotions.

I loved my father -- not as a son, but as a lover. I had found what I had instinctively been searching for my entire life, found it in the only person I could never have. He was my father. He was from a different time. And he could never accept me. He could only fuck me, nothing more. I began to cry anew.

It was heartbreaking. It was perfection.

Just imagine it: two males on a garish purple bed. One, a teenager with overgown long lavender hair, is on all fours. His eyes are screwed shut, hands locked around fistfuls of the sheet, a silent river of tears courses down his cheeks. He begs incomprehensibly. The second, of a smaller and more compact build with dark gravity-defying hair, is on his knees behind the first. His actions are rough and powerful. From his mouth spills vulgar words and mindless, pointless cries of pleasure. The first the son, the second his father. The first meeting each motion and receiving, the second in control and thrusting in. Two males participating in anal sexual intercourse. Panting echoes in the room. The air is heavy with the sent of sweat and sex, tinged with the iron of blood. Beads of perspiration run down their skin, flushed angrily in the heated moment. Progressively the calls become louder, the movements more frantic.

I can see it perfectly, hidden away in my brain. To the best of my memory, that's exactly how we were.

Over the sound of my sobs I could hear his praises, worshipping my body and the tightness he drove into with increasing force. I was approaching orgasm, he was even closer. I was sure nothing could possibly be better, but then one of his hands found my erection. As he continued to thrust his hand wrapped firmly around my length. It squeezed with each drive in and I called out his name, my body tensing. Then his thumb passed across the slit at the head. I lost all control. I prayed, I begged, I said a million things I can no longer remember. My body shook.

Then, I reached release.

I came harder that I ever had before. It was inconceivable. Once I had dreamed about what would happen if we ever had sex, often while trapped in the Room of Spirit and Time I fantasized about it. I imaged every detail and what I yearned for the most was the completion that would come with orgasm. But I was incapable of predicting just how good it would be when it finally happened. Sensation devoured me, it stole my vision, it made me tremble. My semen covered the bedsheet thickly, the flow seemed unending. It was a rush of emotion, suffocating emotion. And deep in the recesses of my mind I knew that I had been eternally tied to my father, the man I loved. The orgasm changed me forever, but I don't regret it.

He came almost immediately after I did, pumping his seed into my ass and bring my sensations to an all-new high. He said some profanity when he climaxed -- I don't remember what, but I know he spoke. He held me painfully tight and through his touch I could feel his jerking convulsions. For a moment we were frozen, connected by his spasming length. But eventually he fell against me and soon after he pulled out. I collapsed to the bed beside him and we lay together in a tangle of limbs.

After a moment, our orgasm-glazed eyes locked, one of his hands moved. It went between my legs, parted slightly to intertwine with his, and briefly probed my depths. It was a scarce memory of the fulfillment I have previously felt. When he withdrew and raised his hand I could see two of his fingers were coated in his semen, the fluid that had marked me. As I watched he brought his fingers to his mouth and carefully licked them clean.

The real world is dirty. Filthy. You get used to it.

"Vegeta..." My voice shook and my throat was dry. It hurt to speak, but I needed to. "I think I love you."

His reply was steady and harsh. "Of course you do, brat. I'm your father."

Neither of us said anything more. I fell asleep in his embrace with his eyes drilling into me. When I awoke he pushed away, grabbed the fabric scrap from the floor, and tied my hair back for me. Then he said I smelled like sex and told me to take a shower. I did without taking out my hair tie.

For the last month we've fucked often, about every other day. He's screwed me in more ways than I can remember. He's trained me to give a blowjob. He's demonstrated how to find the prostate gland and how to use it for all it's worth. We can't seem to get enough of each other. It's our release, our way of creating humanity in this empty hellhole. And that's all it is to him: sex.

My father. I love him so much.


End file.
